Lava drops over the cliffs and enters the ocean along a half-mile stretch of coastline in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.

Lava drops over the cliffs and enters the ocean along a half-mile stretch of coastline in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.

Photo: David Jordan/Special To The Post-Intelligencer

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The colors of the impending dawn can't compete with the blazing hues of molten rock as it gloops into the Pacific hissing and spitting. Flowing lava shows up most vividly in the dark, so it's best to make the trek over lava fields to the coast either before dawn or during the day and stay until after the sun sets. less

The colors of the impending dawn can't compete with the blazing hues of molten rock as it gloops into the Pacific hissing and spitting. Flowing lava shows up most vividly in the dark, so it's best to make the ... more

Photo: David Jordan/Special To The Post-Intelligencer

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Lava oozes out of the ground beneath a photographer and forms a large pool as it advances toward the Pacific Ocean. Lava has been flowing from Kilauea continuously since 1983, but is not always easy to spot. The molten rivers often flow underground and change direction. less

Lava oozes out of the ground beneath a photographer and forms a large pool as it advances toward the Pacific Ocean. Lava has been flowing from Kilauea continuously since 1983, but is not always easy to spot. ... more

Photo: David Jordan/Special To The Post-Intelligencer

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A bundle of ti leaves left on the Wilipe'a lava bench near ocean's edge contain an offering to Pele, a goddess who is now said to live in Kilauea's crater.

A bundle of ti leaves left on the Wilipe'a lava bench near ocean's edge contain an offering to Pele, a goddess who is now said to live in Kilauea's crater.

Photo: David Jordan/Special To The Post-Intelligencer

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Red hot Hawaii: The Big Island's lava flows ooze a primordial beauty

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There are more than a million visits a year to see Kilauea, one of the world's most active volcanoes. However, casual tourists often are disappointed that they do not see fountains of lava at the main caldera in Volcanoes National Park.

Lava has been flowing continuously since January 1983, but how much and where changes daily.

Things got hot in 1986, when lava from Kilauea flowed southeast, obliterating the village of Kalapana and cutting off the coast road. That is where lava continues to ooze today, but it's underground much of the time, making it harder to find.

To be successful in a lava hunt, it helps to think local. Hawaiians come to the park often and they speak fondly of "our beloved belcher." They are a hearty bunch, but you might not notice them. The park includes 230,000 acres, a rim road and many hiking trails, so it never feels crowded.

Locals keep close track of volcanic activity. They know when the crater called Pu'u 'O'o is huffing and puffing ash to leeward like a cheap cigar. They know when the lava that oozes inexorably to the sea has broken out to the surface for all to see.

When conditions are right, word spreads fast on what's called the "coconut wire": "There are breakouts an hour in from Chain of Craters. Pack a lunch and let's go!"

As a lava chaser with some experience, let me help you maximize the volcanic action on your next visit to the Big Island.

First of all, skip the homework. Reading about the volcanoes before you come is fun, but not strictly necessary. The displays, literature and staff at park headquarters will bring you up to speed quickly.

For lava chasing, the important information is that in 1986 lava flowed over the pali, or cliff, like warm icing off a 4,000-foot cake, eventually reaching a width of nine miles. Lava continues to force itself under, over and through this older, colder river of rock on its way to the ocean. Some days there is more activity on the east side of the river, some days the west.

Eventually lava that is 2,000 degrees meets saltwater. It is a rude introduction that results in violent explosions of steam containing hydrochloric acid and sulfur dioxide. In 2001, two people were found dead, apparently overcome by the fumes in a sudden wind shift.

Ocean wave action on this newly formed crust of land causes it to crumble. In 1993, one person was killed and 12 others injured when a bench of lava collapsed into the Pacific. In 1996, a 27-acre piece of land tumbled into the ocean. Miraculously, no one was hurt.

Personally, I prefer the lower risk and higher reward of chasing lava higher up the mountain, where the most common injury on the hike is skinned knees. Broken limbs, however, are not unheard of.

Still interested? If you want a chance to see lava really close up, follow Chain of Craters Road from inside the park to its end. The trip is 22 miles, an exhilarating, ear-popping, zigzag descent to the ocean. Actually the distance varies, because since Mother's Day this year, lava has been crossing and obliterating the road, day by day, foot by foot.

Ocean entry is close at this point and voluminous, but the real attraction is hiking in search of red ooze on the surface.

The National Park Service does not authorize lava chasing. However, recognizing how strong the attraction is, the service provides a shelter and ranger at the end of Chain of Craters Road.

There are two schools of thought on lava chasing. Molten lava shows up most vividly in the dark, so you can either walk in before dawn or stay until after dark. Either way you'll need a flashlight with extra batteries, plus good shoes and lots of water.

From the ranger station, it is a difficult hike with no path and no guarantee you will see anything but billowing sulfur-laden steam with a glow in it. At this point, you might consider some of the hikes back up top, inside the park, where the paths are smooth and flat and you can see sulfurous steam.

If you're still interested in serious lava hunting, for the dawn walk you need to prepare for the heat of midday with a hat and sunscreen. The traction is excellent. However, depending on where the lava is breaking out, you may walk from one to three hours each way.

The ranger can direct you to the general area, and once there you look for steam and heat shimmers in the air, similar to the heat waves off an asphalt road in summer. Also, the lava of a very fresh flow is shiny and looks lighter, almost silver compared with the same stuff just a day older.

If you go for the evening hike -- which we did -- I recommend long sleeves and long pants, and a compass wouldn't be a bad idea because it is easy to lose your bearings. The ranger goes home at night, but a floodlight stays on as a beacon to help night-walkers find their way out.

The main thing is don't fall, because the surface of the lava can cut like glass. We went for the evening hike and I fell on the way out, in the dark, which I eventually will tell you about -- because I have to.

The ranger of the day told us about the two kinds of lava. A'a is loose, like coarse rock. Pahoehoe is solid, smooth, shiny and fluid looking. Then she pointed back up the pali, the way we had come, to scattered clumps of trees -- islands in a river of rock.."They are a hazard to avoid," she said. Methane gas explosions occur when lava meets vegetation. Last Mother's Day a flow passed along the west side of the flow field and into forest, where it started wildfires that burned until late July.

Less of a hazard than a curiosity are the plucky little ferns called a'uma'u that put down roots almost as soon as the lava cools.

The thrill of walking on lava is hard to describe.

The ground in front of me, shiny black and indistinguishable from what lay for miles around in any direction, groaned and parted slightly to reveal a forge-red interior. Soon, a pointed dragon toe of molten lava squeezed out toward me. I was standing on a river of lava and the soles of my feet were getting hot. "Not wise," I thought, although I had waited months for the opportunity.

There's the thrill of danger, of course, but also proximity to the primal energy of the planet. "The Lord of the Rings" came to mind, I admit it. A loping Orc would not have been out of place. And like approaching Mordor, go as close as you dare, just don't expect to be rescued.

As night came on, the source of all this lava, high above us and miles away, cast a soft glow similar to that of a small city. There was a long slash of red straight down the pali, but pooled below were 10,000 dragon toes of ooze, glowing with the heat of a hellishly hot interior.

Kilauea is often associated with Pele, a paramount goddess of old Hawaii. She is said to now reside in Kilauea's main crater but has not always done so. The mythology in these modern times is so strong that almost anyone on the island will advise you not to take any lava home with you on the plane. Pele won't like it and you just might run onto a streak of bad luck. This is a goddess that counts every grain of sand and hold grudges.

The feminine image for the volcano is reinforced by a kind of lava that looks like twisted ropes of jet-black hair, and then there is the continual birthing of land. An offshore seamount called Loihi is 20 miles out, 3,000 feet below the surface and still growing.

The thought of walking back to the car down the back of a vengeful goddess was daunting, but it was also the only way out. For a flashlight I had grabbed one of those plug-in-the-wall things. After an hour or so of walking and watching my feet in its rapidly weakening beam, I fell. A single misstep and I was on my back with a bloody abrasion in the palm of my hand.

So there I was, with a cut hand and sore butt, and we had how far to go? The ranger said there was a beacon light on all night, but with all the ups and downs, we frequently lost sight of it.

If you can, choose a moonlit night for this adventure. The farther ahead you can see, the better. No moon? Take bearings and a compass and some broad illumination like a camp light. Not only is the lava heaved and buckled, but there are pukas -- a wonderful Hawaiian word that in this case means holes in lava that are full of sticker bushes.

We stumbled around in the inky black with one flashlight until we came upon a tiny patch of the old highway, complete with yellow line. We could hear the ocean close by, too close for comfort.

We followed wavering lights that could have been wraiths, and then we met naive strangers in the night and they were us.

"Hey."

Ahead was not the end of our travail, but another flashlight. Secretly I expected this to be the ranger out gathering her flock of walking wounded, but no.

"Hey."

Finally we came together with three hikers and stopped to talk in the joined beams of our two flashlights aimed at the ground like crossed swords. No one made eye contact.

"Did you see anyone else out there?" asked one, hoping for word on a lost member of their party. "He lives here and you'd think he'd know better," he muttered.

"I don't suppose you know where we are?" we asked.

In the end, the five of us stumbled on, clinging pathetically to each other's sleeves for balance. Keeping the sound of surf on the left, we went from one small patch of the old highway to the next and eventually found the park shelter with its bright orange light on a pole.

We got in our cars and left without a word.

Let me offer this last piece of advice: However long the hike in, expect to take twice as long getting out.